


Soulmarked

by TrebleandBass (May_Seward)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9723053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Seward/pseuds/TrebleandBass
Summary: Humanity has been guarded, watched from above since the beginning of time. Earth’s guardians lock away their souls to watch and guide without attachment or fear... or love.A life Soullocked is a half life, if an immortal one.Victor Nikiforov couldn't stand it.And so, he fell.Every Guardian has a Soulmark. Someone or Something that undoes that magic that binds their soul and keeps them... uninvested. Victor thought he had found his when he put on skates for the first time, but maybe it was always going to be something else, someone else...(I guess this counts as a soulmates AU except it’s technically one-sided because Victor is a literal otherworldly being and so the usual human rules don’t exactly apply.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I literally started writing with no planning or ideas as to what the hell this was and totally made up my own immortal being thing for the heck of it. I really have no idea what this is or what it was supposed to be. Enjoy it anyway?  
> I don't know. I'm just going to post this before I start regretting my life decisions. Again.

In a realm elusive to any human, beings of great power watched over the earth. They were the architects of accidents and the designers of disasters. They were the forgers of fortunes and fates, shapers of the seasons and tides, chosen to watch humanity rise and fall as they willed it. These beings had been given many names. They had been known as Valkyries and Gods, Demons and Devils, Faeries and Angels... but they called themselves the Guardians.

The home of the Guardians had also gone by many names; Valhalla, The Summerland, Paradise, Elysium, Heaven...

The Guardians called it The Watchtower.

Looking down on humanity, the Watchtower was a labyrinthine castle full of gardens, echoing halls and rooms of every design imaginable. Each room had a door to Earth that came out at a designated site on the world below. It took lifetimes to find them all. It was fortunate, then, that the Guardians had many many lifetimes to get acquainted to their home.

A Guardian as old as Victor knew every inch of the place.

In the Watchtower, a Guardian's form was fluid, changeable on a whim, but Victor could feel his locked heart beating in his chest in a constant thrum, keeping time with his thoughts as he skulked through the halls. He passed through a stone passageway into a harshly lit white corridor and out again into a tunnel carved from solid ice. An opening on the side of the wall lead to a large hall-like room. Full-length mirrors took up one of the long walls, the wall opposite lined with a curved wooden bar. Sunlight streamed from windows above, sparking off Victor's long silver hair and he wondered briefly what it would feel like on his face. Dismissing the thought for now, he turned his back on the sun and stepped towards the mirror wall, reaching his own long fingers out to touch the cool glass. 

With a push the mirror swung wide and he stepped through without looking back.

Victor fell to his knees as he passed through the portal, landing heavily in the dark. He looked around, pushing long hair out of his eyes and smiled for the first time in his very long life.

For Guardians, a fall from grace was all about intent. The Watchtower knew when you were never coming back. As a final act of revenge, it took your power, leaving you human. Mortal. Everyone fell eventually. It was an ugly fact that those in charge liked to sweep under the rug and pretend didn't exist. Victor just made the decision sooner than most.

He groaned as the full extent of what he had just done hit him. His limbs felt instantly heavy and he couldn't stop himself sliding the rest of the way to the floor. There he lay, panting and staring at the ceiling of the darkened earth-bound version of the room he had just left, as he felt something fundamental to him drain away. Some power, an energy he had been bestowed hundreds of years ago forsook him and he felt it's loss as an ache in his bones and soul.

Victor began to laugh. He lay on the floor and laughed like a maniac. His _ soul! _ He could deal with the pain. Quite apart from the fact he had felt worse pain many times before, the fact that he could feel it at all means that it _worked_! He didn't have to go back to that accursed place! He was  _ human _ again and he felt so  _ alive _ !

“Who the hell are you?” a gruff male voice asked.

Victor tried to scramble to his feet but all he managed was a slumped sitting position against the mirror wall.

Two people had entered the room, a man and a woman, probably in their mid-thirties, but after living with the ageless Guardians for over five hundred years, Victor struggled to guess the age of mortals.

“Answer, boy!” the woman snapped, gripping the man's sleeve with a gloved hand.

“Victor!” Victor replied. Instinctively, he began taking inventory of his body, trying to gauge how fast he could run in his newly human form before collapsing if the need arose.

“How did you get in here?” The woman demanded. 

“The door was unlocked,” Victor lied

“Are you hiding, Victor?” the man asked, eying him warily. “Are you hiding from the police?”

Victor thought quickly.  _ Late twentieth century in north eastern Europe. Russia, probably, considering we’re speaking in Russian. Hiding from the police is probably a dangerous answer. _

“The cold,” Victor clarified hastily.

“Homeless?” the man pressed. Victor imagined what lay behind him, the Watchtower now gone from his life forever.

“Yes.”

“Family?” The man asked.

“No.”

“How old are you?” The woman asked.

Victor turned his head to catch sight of himself in the mirror. He was thin and gangly, pale and young-looking with hair long enough to reach halfway down his back.

“Fifteen,” he guessed.

The couple whispered urgently to each other. The woman kept shaking her head. Eventually the man turned back to Victor.

“Why don't you come home with us? Just for a night. Have a hot meal and a bed for once.”

After a moment of hesitation, Victor nodded gratefully.

“Thank you.”

* * *

It turns out that the man's name was Yakov and the woman was Lilia, his wife. Over dinner, Yakov talked about his work, coaching promising young figure skaters all the way up to the professional level.

“You ever skated, Victor?” 

Victor shook his head. “Never tried it.”

“You should,” Yakov insisted. “It sets your soul free.”

Victor frowned at his choice of words. The chains around his heart that had imprisoned him for so long were looser from his metaphorical (and metaphysical) fall, but still definitely there, hobbling his emotions and his senses. Beings with power were liable to cause a lot of damage if their emotions were left unchecked. Now as a human, Victor’s strength and agility were far lesser than he was used to, but still above average human level. He could be dangerous if he wanted to be, and until he could find his soulmark, the key to unlocking his full emotional potential, this was his reality.

Anything that could make him feel lighter would be a blessing, a reprieve from the slow suffocation. Ice skating sounded like as good as any place to start look for that key.

“I want to,” Victor insisted. “It sounds amazing.”

Yakov turned his focus back to his meal but he seemed pleased.

* * *

Victor spent the next day exploring the streets of St Petersburg, wrapped in an old coat and scarf given to him by his hosts.

As it turns out, he was a little... out of date in his estimation of time. It wasn't late twentieth century, but early twenty-first. The 4th of February, 2004 to be exact, according to a newspaper he found. 

He explored the bridges and other landmarks, trying to get a feel for the place he was stuck in for the time being. As night began to fall, Victor made his way back towards Yakov's house with a plan he hoped would work out well for both of them.

“I wanted to thank you for your kindness,” he said when Yakov opened the door.

“You already did this morning,” Yakov frowned.

“Yes, but I wanted to do something more tangible. I have no money but I could do odd jobs around the house or run errands for you or something to pay you back.”

Yakov furrowed his brows and looked him over for a second.

"You want to work for me?" he clarified.

Victor nodded. "Yes."

“I tell you what, come and work for me at the ice rink. We need someone to maintain it, and my other guy just left with no warning.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. _Interesting coincidence..._ “Really?”

“Saves me having to find someone else. Come to the ice rink at seven a.m. tomorrow and I'll give you a crash course. I will trial you out for a month and see how it goes, okay?”

“Absolutely! Thank you!” Victor remembered that smiling was a human way of showing happiness and so spread his lips into a grin.

Yakov frowned. ‘You can sleep here again tonight, but tomorrow we will get you set up in one of the dorms.’ He stepped aside. ‘Get in here before we catch cold.

* * *

Considering his previous job, Victor’s first day at work was a breeze. He managed the various machines that kept the rink running smoothly and watched the skaters as they danced across the ice.

At the end of the day, Yakov came and found him, instructing him on what to do before they closed the rink off for the night.

"Sir," Victor asked. "May I have a go?"

Yakov stared at him for a moment, eyebrows raised critically. Finally, he said, "Half an hour. Then I’m going home."

So, Victor found a pair of skates and wobbled onto the ice.

Victor knew how to be light on his feet, how to balance on a wire, how to move quickly with as little effort as possible, but in his long life, he had never used his skills for anything more than necessity. It took him ten minutes to get used to the skates and the ice. He spent that time moving slowly around the edge of the rink, one hand on the board to steady and steer himself, the other arm out to aid balance.

"You catch on quickly," Yakov mused. Victor thought he sounded impressed. "Try without the boards," he suggested. Victor did as he suggested and let go. He pushed away from the boards with his left hand and began to drift towards the middle of the rink. "Take a step or you’ll fall over!" Yakov called out and again Victor did as instructed.

For one shining moment, it felt like the chains around his soul fell away. It was a little bit of a shaky start but after a moment he found a rhythm he could work with and then he was moving free and careless, enjoying the feel of the cold air running through his hair. He whooped at the sensation. Out  _ loud _ . As if it was the most natural reaction in the world. The shock of it nearly made him fall over. He took another broad step, closed his eyes and then it was like he was  _ flying _ ! His heart thundered in his chest and it felt entirely natural when his face split into a grin so wide it hurt but that pain was nothing because he was alive and soaring! Victor spread his arms like wings to keep his balance and let his momentum take him across the rink to where Yakov was watching. 

"How do you do it?" Victor asked as he slammed heavily into the boards. "How do you not spend every waking moment out on the ice rink?"

"That good, huh?" Yakov grumbled, but he stood back with his arms crossed over his chest. "I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you fifteen more minutes and then show you to your dorm room."

Victor grinned and pushed off again, this time attempting to figure out how to steer. He remembered watching the skaters from earlier and the graceful ways they moved. He tried to copy a move and ended up veering to the right. "Woah!" Victor shouted and attempted to rectify his course only to fall on his face. After a few moments of awkward scrambling, Victor was back on his feet and gliding around again. He spun in a circle and, unable to wipe the smile off his face, started thinking with new optimism.

All Guardians were soullocked, kept immortal, impartial and uninvolved lest they go insane over the years or develop a conscience and the act of forsaking the Guardians like Victor had done weakened it, but did not break it entirely. It took finding their soulmark, something that was unique to each Guardian, to unlock it entirely. For some Guardians it had been a particular instrument that had spoken to them after their fall, others Victor had heard of turned to poetry or quantum physics. Sometimes it was a combination of things. Rarely, it was a person, a soulmate that unlocked a fallen Guardian’s soul. The one thing Victor knew for certain was that until he found it, he could never be happy and once he did, he needed to fight to keep it in his life for as long as he could.

If skating was Victor’s soulmark, he decided, he would be okay with that.

* * *

The next night went much the same way, and the night after. After a few weeks, Victor thought he was rather getting the hang of this skating business.

Apparently, Yakov did too.

"What do you want to do with the rest of your life, Victor?" he asked one day. Victor came to a stop and cocked his head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life as my maintenance man, do you?" Yakov pressed. "Don’t you want to go somewhere?"

"I haven’t really thought about it," Victor said honestly. "Besides, if I weren’t your maintenance man anymore I wouldn’t be able to skate."

"You would if you became one of my skaters," Yakov replied gruffly.

Victor skated towards Yakov and hit the boards with enthusiasm. "You want me to be one of your skaters?"

"Is that what you want?"

Victor gripped Yakov by the shoulders. "It’s all I want!"

"Well then," Yakov coughed. "We’ll start next week. I’ll start you in a novice class, train you formally, then see where it goes. That okay with you?"

* * *

_ "New on the junior division scene this year is relative latecomer, fifteen year old Victor Nikiforov with his. A relative unknown in the figure skating world, it will be interesting to see how the latest Russian prodigy fares against his more experienced competition..." _

If there had been one thing Victor had learned after all those years on watch it was that everyone had their place. If this was Victor’s, he couldn’t be happier.

* * *

_ "And it's sixteen year old Victor Nikiforov making his Senior Debut after only one year in the junior division, surprising everyone by taking silver at the Junior world championships last year..." _

Hearing his name called over the loudspeaker was just as thrilling as the first time, but it rested heavy on his stomach. He had never felt more alive, more human than he did when he was on the ice, with humanity watching him and not the other way around, but...

* * *

_ "And twenty-three year old Victor Nikiforov proves himself the man to beat two years in a row with his free skate score reestablishing his first place position and only one more competitor left to take to the rink. This comes in the wake of winning gold in his Olympic debut in London earlier this year. We could well be witnessing a star on the rise..." _

As the years wore on, the afterglow of the competition, of his time in the rink, faded sooner and sooner. He still loved to skate, but what did that even mean? Sometimes, Victor wasn’t sure and it gnawed at him. Perhaps he just needed to do something different? Change it up? Surprise himself?

Victor cut his hair, but somehow it wasn’t enough. It had taken the better part of a decade but he was beginning to realise that something was missing...

* * *

_ "Sure enough he’s crushed the free skating event as well! This marks the fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final win for Russian legend Victor Nikiforov! Nikiforov is now twenty seven years old. Some speculate that he might retire this season but his masterful performance here may lay such rumours to rest. Now let’s talk about Yuuri Katsuki..." _

He should feel happy, right? Victor wondered, staring at his gold medal absently. He should feel on top of the world. Except Victor Nikiforov had been on top of the world and it felt nothing like humans seemed to think it should be.

He went to the banquet as he did every year. He was plagued and pestered by elitist Russians and star-struck young skaters (it seemed everyone in this business was younger than he was these days. It’s been years since he’d actually felt old that the thought scared him a little) but eventually he weaseled his way far from the clamouring crowds to the bar, where the questions and the revelry wasn’t so loud and there was copious amounts of alcohol. If there was one thing living in Russia for the last twelve years had taught him, it was if in doubt, get shit-faced.

"Ay, Plisetsky! Get over here!"

"Arrgggghhh you have  _ got to be kidding me _ !" the voice of young and temperamental Yuri, Victor's fifteen year old rink mate who was probably too young to really be at this event anyway, cut it’s way through the crowd and after a moment, figure skating’s finest cheered in unison and the music was turned up loud.

Everyone surged backwards as they cleared the dance floor. Phones started flashing and Victor pushed through the throng to see what was going on. 

Aparrently, first-timer Yuuri Katsuki had dragged Russian prodigy Yuri Plisetsky onto the dance floor with the sole intent of humiliating him.

Victor found himself taking out his own phone to take pictures. Something told him he would want to remember that night.

‘Victooooooooor,’ Yuuri drawled when he caught sight of him and pulled Victor into a rather compromising and very tight hug.

Something in Victor shattered and he went completely still. It was like his first time on the ice all over again, that feeling of being alive and powerful and complete.

All because Yuuri Katsuki hugged him.

Victor was stunned, motionless and petrified. Suddenly, the world was in colours brighter than anything he had seen before, everything was loud and intense and Yuuri was holding him tight enough to burst -

And just like that, joy turned to elation, fear to terror, sadness into despair and Victor wanted to cry with the intensity of it all because how else could be expel all of this emotion now that it was free and rampaging through him like a tsunami?

Something Yuuri, incredible, impossible Yuuri, said snapped him out of his semi-comatose state. ‘Hey, I got an idea. If I win the dance-off, come to Hasetsu and be my coach! You’ll do it, won’t you Victor?” He threw his arms around Victor's neck and yelled in his ear. “Be my coach!’

Something, no, everything in him (and as he was rapidly discovering, Victor had much more in him than he had originally bargained for) wanted to scream YES! But his lips wouldn't move. He was shocked into silence long enough that Yuuri pulled back and stepped away, leaving behind an ache wherever he had touched. Victor's heart beat so fast he thought he might pass out.

Seemingly to keep his mind off his apparent rejection, Yuuri snatched Russian Yuri from his hiding place and pulled him back onto the dance floor. Victor watched in shock as the next song started and they began to move. Oh  _ boy  _ could that man move.

Like most figure skaters, both Yuris were formidably trained dancers and when they so desired, could apply their classical training to all types of dance should the need or want arise but Yuuri Katsuki, last seen making friends with no one but a rapidly growing clutch of empty champagne glasses, was surprising everyone considering how inebriated he was.

Now vested of his dinner jacket and his tie unknotted, Yuuri’s dancing could probably be called “great” even with his coordination and balance skewed by the staggering amount of alcohol he had consumed. Both Yuris were also surprisingly coordinated with each other and Victor had the sneaking suspicion that despite the younger boy’s protestations, Yuri Plisetsky was thoroughly enjoying himself. Victor would never hold it against the boy, but it didn’t hurt to have it in his arsenal should the need ever arise. With Yuri starting to talk about Victor becoming his coach sometime, he might need it.

But Yuuri Katsuki had just asked him to be his coach and all Victor could think about was the way he danced and the way he would look on the ice if he had more training.

The image took his breath away and fueled him with a newfound sense of recklessness. Without really thinking about it, Victor stepped onto the dance floor to join the pair.

Forget crying, he thought. Forget skating alone on a floor of ice.  _ This,  _ dancing with Yuuri, even though the Japanese man would not remember a lot of this tomorrow, was the perfect way for Victor to relax and let go. His muscles burned with new fire as he moved, but in the best way possible (and after the exertion he had put them through in the past few days, Victor supposed it wasn't surprising) and as they moved together Victor couldn't take his eyes off Yuuri Katsuki in wonderment that after  _ so long _ , this man was the thing that burned away the last of his shackles and set him finally, truly free.

* * *

Victor didn't fly to Japan the next morning. He woke up with a wicked hangover and nearly missed his alarm. He didn't even get to say goodbye to Yuuri before he boarded a plane back to Russia. Yuri Plisetsky was in the seat next to him, shoulders hunched as if afraid accidental human touch would burn him, headphones on full volume. Victor was used to this though and ignored him. He had other things on his mind.

It was possible he would never see Yuuri again. Before he had gotten super drunk, the poor man had seemed so depressed by his defeat that Victor would not be shocked of Yuuri decided to quit.

Victor shook his head and tried to find something good to watch on the in-flight entertainment. Anything to distract himself. Thinking of Yuuri was starting to make his soul hurt, as if now that they had met, it couldn't stand  _ not _ to have him around. Absurd for any normal human but Victor? He had known going in that once found, leaving a soulmark could eventually drive him into depression or insanity. 

In the end, Victor decided to just try and sleep, put off the pain until after the jetlag and post-competition exhaustion had run its course. 

His dreams were full of dark hair, strong arms and his name on another man's lips.

* * *

It was months before Victor saw Yuuri again.

He spent the intervening time as he always did; on the ice.

Victor had been choreographing his own programs since his senior debut and he had found the creative process both surprising and comforting since then. That is what he loved most, the surprise. After existing as long as Victor had, not an awful lot could surprise him. Choreography however was a way for him to connect to something long since made dormant inside him and set it free, never quite sure where the next step would take him and what it would mean. It was thrilling and thoroughly relaxing and enjoyable at the same time.

Yet the days and weeks passed into each other, Victor began to realise with a gnawing, empty feeling that his heart just wasn’t in it. He just... couldn't put himself into it. It felt like he was paralysed. He couldn’t decide on which version of a song he wanted to use. He couldn’t decide which theme he preferred. He couldn’t decide which moves would convey how he was feeling effectively and all of this just made it more apparent that what he was feeling wasn’t agape or eros but plain confusion. He just had no idea what to do and it all came down to the fact that his soul craved something he couldn’t reasonably give it.

And then, in the most surprising way possible, Yuuri Katsuki came back into his life.

Via the internet.

Desperately looking for inspiration, Victor had turned to the most dangerous method of all: surfing youtube on his phone. He wasn’t even trying very hard and his vanity may have taken over a little because he had slipped his own name into the search bar. To remind himself what he was capable of, he told himself. 

But scrolling through the videos wasn’t actually helping with anything except making him more depressed. There were so many pictures of his face; in interviews, on ice, suspiciously blurry and far away, that they all seemed to meld together in front of his eyes. 

Then a dark-haired figure broke the monotony. He couldn’t read japanese but the pose the skater had in the video’s thumbnail was suspiciously familiar. Victor clicked on the video purely out of curiosity and narrowed his gaze in surprise.

It was Yuuri Katsuki performing Victor’s free skate program from last season and Victor felt his heart beating in his chest because Yuuri was  _ copying him _ and he was doing it  _ beautifully _ .

As Victor pressed the replay button, he got over his surprise and began to notice other things. The younger man had changed. He’d put on weight and Victor thought there was a more permanent, bone deep tiredness in his eyes than when he had seen him last. He was wearing training clothes that were the definition of “nothing special” but the way he moved was breathtaking.

_ Hasetsu _ , Yuuri had said and remembering it, Victor made his decision.  _ Come to Hasetsu _ ...

**Author's Note:**

> I will probably write more of this AU someday... Hopefully by then it will actually make some sort of Actual Sense instead of... whatever this is.   
> All I know is I need season 2.


End file.
